


someone to know you too well

by orderlyhouse



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Coping, Crowley's Plants (Good Omens), Crying, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gift Giving, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), POV Crowley (Good Omens), Podfic Welcome, Post-Canon, Trauma, Valentine's Day, not the physical kind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:14:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22742329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orderlyhouse/pseuds/orderlyhouse
Summary: One of the things he loves about Crowley, Aziraphale had thought once, is that there are always new things to learn about him.Aziraphale sees Crowley's treatment of his plants and decides to give him a gift.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 101





	someone to know you too well

**Author's Note:**

> I started this as a normal fic but it got out of control, so I guess it's the "I wrote this for myself but you can read this too" kind of thing.  
> Title: [Being Alive by Stephen Sondheim.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xGstwWx1bZI)

One of the things he loves about Crowley, Aziraphale had thought once, is that there are always new things to learn about him.

He knows the major ones, of course. They couldn’t have known each other for millennia without Aziraphale finding out that Crowley is smart, and beautiful, and _kind_ , although he wouldn’t accept it as a compliment.

Finding out small things about Crowley was like watching him change his style ever so often, so Aziraphale shouldn’t have been so surprised, really.

Things were good. The best they have ever been, actually. Nobody was after them, and that was clear. They’ve spent these past months after the failed end of the world visiting Adam and his friends in Tadfield, getting used to the idea of being godfathers to not one, but five children, since in Adam’s worldview Warlock would suddenly realize the truth and want to see his ex-guardians again.

But most importantly, the obstacle of unsaid feelings was finally gotten out of the way, dealt with in the best way possible. Maybe not completely, but the intentions were clear.

So, really, Aziraphale shouldn’t have been surprised.

They’ve just seen the latest adaptation of _La Traviata,_ and Crowley had asked if Aziraphale would like to go to his place since the plants are in desperate need for water because he’d spent the last few days in the bookshop, and wasn’t there an unfinished book Aziraphale has left the last time he came over that Crowley forgets to return every time he goes to see him? [1]

Aziraphale wasn’t surprised when they finally arrived at the flat, Crowley offered him tea and made it exactly the way Aziraphale likes with no reminder from him. He was also not surprised when he received it in a fine China set.

What happened after that, however, did surprise him.

Crowley had left him in the living room, promising to make it quick with his plants, and Aziraphale immersed himself in the book from the place he bookmarked, his tea nearly forgotten, when he heard it.

“What the hell is this?”

Aziraphale snapped his head up and listened to the silence that hung itself in the air, as if there were no words spoken mere seconds ago. For a moment, Aziraphale contemplated if there really were none, if what he’d just heard was someone’s TV in the building, if that was someone outside, sounding exactly like—

“Didn’t I warn you about this?”

No, that was real, and it was definitely Crowley, talking in his plant room down the hall. He wasn’t shouting, but talking loud enough to be heard by Aziraphale.

But who was he talking to? It couldn’t be Aziraphale: he’d come in by that time or would have called him, not to even mention that Aziraphale had _never_ heard him speak like that with _anyone_.

“You know what I’m gonna do with you now.”

He sounded authoritative, that’s for sure. Did somebody break in while they were away? Was it some minor demon who was about to be sent back off in the harshest way Crowley could manage? Or worse, was it somebody from—

“There’s enough of everything, who the hell wilts in these conditions?!”

_What?_

Aziraphale decided not to jump to any conclusions _at all_ , but to continue listening.

“I’m off for three days – three!” Crowley’s voice wavered as he spoke like he was passing the room. “I leave you everything that you could possibly need; the Sun’s out for three days straight, in London, _in January_ , and this is how you treat me?!”

That’s it, Aziraphale decided, he couldn’t just sit and listen to this. What was going on?

“You—“

“Crowley?”

The door to the plant room wasn’t closed, so Aziraphale stood outside, not coming in until invited.

Crowley whipped around abruptly, eyes wide, plant mister in one hand and a small plant in a pot in the other.

“Is everything alright?” Aziraphale asked him, fiddling with his signet ring.

“I—“ Crowley stammered, but somewhat regained his composure soon enough. “Yeah, fine. Sorry, did I scare you? Just a habit, I guess, I always do… this, only there was no one ever before.” He glanced nervously on the plants around him.

“No, it’s fine,” Aziraphale decided to step into the room, not approaching anything in particular and certainly not touching anything. “Do what, exactly?”

“Ugh, you know, the— the talking. ‘S good for them, they grow better.” Crowley faltered as if he wasn’t sure of what he knew.

Aziraphale hummed. “What about this, then?” He nodded at the pot in Crowley’s hands.

“Oh,” Crowley said, following his glance. “Was just gonna deal with it.” He gave another glare to the plants, and Aziraphale could swear he saw them _shaking_ , although he wasn’t entirely sure how that was possible.

Aziraphale nodded and reasoned to leave him to that. Crowley followed him out of the room, leaving the pot by the front door and producing an empty one from the drawer next to it.

He didn’t know what exactly Crowley did with it, but as he was sitting in the living room again, staring unseeingly at the open book in his lap and trying to collect his thoughts, he heard Crowley say, back in the plant room and in the same tone:

“I think we’re clear on that.”

He knew that Crowley has had plants for a long time now, and maybe if he’d thought once or twice that it was endearing that Crowley would care for a living thing, at the end of the day, it was only Crowley’s business, so he’d never said anything about it, but now…

Now he was just wondering what all of that could mean.

He didn’t hear him use the same tone for the rest of the evening.

The next day, stuck in a usual Saturday traffic that plagues Central London in the mid-day on their way to the bookshop since Crowley had insisted to drop him off personally, Aziraphale decided to ask him what he wanted to ask him for about a week now.

“Crowley,” He started tentatively. “What do you say we go to that flower café you showed me on your phone recently?”

Crowley turned to look at him quickly before resuming assessing the road situation ahead. “What, that pink one in Belgravia? Sure, whenever you want.”

“I was thinking we could go in about two weeks?” Aziraphale said, and Crowley gives him a slightly confused side glance. “On the 14th?”

Crowley stared at the traffic light ahead that had turned red once again, and they still haven’t moved an inch. He was silent for a moment before his eyebrows slowly rose. “Oh.” He said in a tone that suggested that it had just finally dawned on him.

“You don’t have to,” Aziraphale assured him hastily. He’s got the gist of it by now, that Crowley would do a lot for him if he had just asked, but he hated the thought of accidentally abusing that privilege by misreading the signals. “It’s alright if you don’t want to, at all, it’s not that—“

“No, it’s alright,” Crowley smiled at him. “Let’s go.”

They sat in silence for a moment.

“Did you know him?” Crowley asked, preparing to move the Bentley a meter forward since there seemed to be some movement in the front rows.

“Whom?”

“Valentine.” 

“Oh,” Aziraphale said. “Of course. Who do you think told all the children that he’s been jailed?”

“I did.” Crowley glanced at him incredulously.

Aziraphale stared at him for a moment. “Oh.” He said again. And then: “Why?”

Crowley shrugged. “Dunno. Took pity on the poor bugger I guess. He caused a bit of an uproar though, so that was fine.”

Aziraphale hummed in consideration. “I passed his last note to his guard’s daughter, you know. Not like he had anybody else to ask and any time to tell anyone that I just appeared in his cell.”

“So you are responsible for all that paper crap every year.” Crowley smiled smugly at him.

It looked like they had a chance of actually driving in less than five minutes.

Aziraphale side-glanced him, poignantly, as he hoped. “It wasn’t always like that, you know.” He said. “And it’s not about that, you know that too.”

“Sure.” Crowley agreed. “Just as the age of— Whatever, just as the new millennium started, at least. But you have to admit, it’s not only about love, or whatever, just like any other holiday. You don’t even need a calendar, just a good sense for anger and distress in the air around any high street that has a decent chocolate shop and sells fresh flowers.”

The closest car ahead of theirs finally began to move, and it seems like they could finally get over that crosswalk until the lights would change to red again, so Crowley drove forward.

Flowers, huh.

On February 14, Aziraphale didn’t open his shop at all.

Not that it didn’t happen often, but this was a special occasion, in its own way.

Crowley was supposed to pick him up at three, but Aziraphale has been restless since nine in the morning. Maybe even earlier, he wasn’t sure, maybe even from the moment he brought _the thing_ into the shop the day before.

Right now, _the thing_ was in the exact same spot Aziraphale has left it in previously, the golden foil bag it was occupying glistening in the scarce February sunlight.

He tried to get distracted by reading and drinking the tea, and by putting the books he’s left around the shop in their places for once. It had barely lasted him until he heard the front door open in the mid-afternoon.

“Angel!” Crowley greeted him before pushing a large red rose bouquet and a big round chocolate box that Aziraphale barely managed not to drop into his arms and kissing him in the corner of his mouth after Aziraphale said his gratitude. “Ready to go?”

Well, at least he seemed cheerful.

“Just a second, dear,” Aziraphale said before parting himself from Crowley to leave the flowers and the box on his desk and pick up the bag.

Words didn’t seem to find their way for Aziraphale today, so he just silently stared at Crowley for a couple of seconds after turning back to him with a bag in his hand.

“That’s for you,” He finally managed, sounding wavy and unsure even for himself.

“What’s this?” Crowley asked, picking up the bag from Aziraphale’s hands and looking inside.

It was hard to tell what else he was feeling beside curiosity if he felt anything else about it at all.

“It’s supposed to grow,” Aziraphale said when he felt like the pause was getting a bit too long with Crowley’s face remaining unreadable while he was still looking in the bag. “It’s— it’s supposed to be a rose. I hope I didn’t kill it already.”

Crowley finally snapped out of his stupor-like state, snapping his head up to look at Aziraphale. “No, it’s perfect,” he said smiling, before kissing the angel on the cheek. “Thank you. Shall we go?”

Well, Aziraphale thought again, at least it’s in his car, and seems to be taken home later.

It was a nice morning.

The nicest one, actually, if you have managed to avoid hungover.

Crowley sat in his living room, the pot with small green twigs in his hands illuminated by the white light of the early sun.

The previous evening ended up in both of them coming back to the bookshop and drinking themselves silly, which in turn resulted in a brief drunken making out in the backroom that ended when Aziraphale decided to hug him but fell asleep instead, half of his body on Crowley and both of them on the chaise.

Aziraphale had given him a plant. He probably got it from one of the privately owned flower shops in Soho where the owners know him, _obviously_ , and had to explain that he’s looking for a gift for his—

Crowley shook his head, standing up. There are many words he could use to describe what he and Aziraphale have, and while a part of each one with its full meaning behind it will find its way in this description, it was still not enough.

Realistically, he knew that these terms were meant to be used in an average span of one human life, not a hundred of them, but wasn’t he entitled to put a name on the whole thing at least in his head?

He supposed Aziraphale could think of him as one of the pet names he calls Crowley: “dear”, “darling”, “sweetheart” – well, not that one really, but Crowley had thought of him that way, so maybe Aziraphale did too, considering his way with words.

Maybe it never will be enough.

Crowley brought his thoughts back to the present moment. He had to deal with the plant first and process this sappy nonsense later.

He walked into the plant room, looking for a suitable place. There was little space left, so he had to move a large fern on the floor to create a sunny spot for the rose.

“Right,” he muttered before getting up and grabbing the plant mister, unscrewing the top mechanism off the bottle. Some watering would do them good right now.

Contrary to popular belief that somebody would form if they observed Crowley interact with his plants, Crowley actually _did_ talk to his plants. He figured that they’d follow his orders better afterwards since he’d earned their trust, and sometimes during the last decades he needed to talk to someone who wasn’t Aziraphale, or else he felt like he’d go insane. He just had to make sure he wouldn’t share too much.

“So,” He started, pouring water in the pots and slowly walking around the room. “Been some days, hasn’t it? It’s been… good. You’re looking well.”

“Not you,” He addressed the pot of Indian basil that left a yellowing leaf in his hand when he touched it. He frowned. “I thought I’ve told you all – no spots, no wilting, no yellow leaves.”

They just couldn’t handle being treated well, could they? As soon as they caught Crowley being “nice” (ha!) to them, they forgot their place and wanted more, disproportionally _much more_.

“Last chance.” He hissed at the basil, crumpling the leaf and leaving it in front of the pot.

He was still irritated when he was finally back to crouching on the floor in front of the gifted pot.

“You,” He raised a finger to point at the plant, but halted. It was new and so small, and it was from _Aziraphale_ , and how —

“Um. You keep doing that.” He said hesitantly, poured some water in the pot and stood up again to go through the rest of the plants in the room.

And then he saw it.

It made sense that he couldn’t see it earlier. This red polka dot plant was a relatively new one, in a medium-sized pot, and the yellowing leaves Crowley was looking at right now seemed to be developing from underneath, alongside the leaves covered in something like white powder. Some leaves, dry by the time he discovered them, had fallen on the same side, trapped between the pot and the wall. Sunlight that reached the opposite side of the pot made some leaves start curling there.

It was a great mess.

“You —“ Crowley was furious. He was right, they all wanted more than he gave them, all the time, and his plants weren’t best-looking in London for no reason, he gave them _enough_ , and they had the audacity to go _corrupt_ —

He suddenly remembered that the rose Aziraphale gave him was still in the room, and the memories from more than a fortnight ago came up. He’s never lashed out liked that in front Aziraphale, not that he could remember, but he was certain that it was never, and could never be, directed at him.

He wondered how Aziraphale saw him now. He didn’t say anything, but what if, in the angel’s eyes, Crowley had finally lived up to the demonic imagery glorified by Hell and antagonized by Heaven? Only it was several thousand years too late for that.

He knew Aziraphale couldn’t possibly think like that by now. They’ve been through literal Hell together, and Aziraphale admitted after their little stunt went well how wrong he was about everything he’s ever thought, apologising for pushing Crowley away.

He also knew that thousands of years of indoctrination weren’t so easy to brush off in just a couple of month, so what if —?

The plants were all watered, so he picked the polka dot plant, hastily collecting the fallen leaves off the shelf and keeping them tight and invisible in his fist. “I’m gonna deal with you,” He said to it with all his anger, and left the room.

One thing that would also surprise somebody who knew about Crowley’s treatment of his plants was that he’s never actually killed them. Maybe he got genuinely angry at them in front of the others, threatening destruction and then turning up the ancient paper-shredder he’d got back in the 1980s that was producing so much noise it was probably still heard through soundproof walls outside his flat, but he’s never destroyed them.

Instead, he left the offending plant on one of the windowsills in his building after slightly polishing it, bounding it to be taken home by somebody.

Somebody who would tend better to it. Somebody who would _actually care_ about it.

He didn’t bother with the shredder this time, though. He was still feeling angry, but thinking about Aziraphale knowing what he’s witnessed about him, and the fact that he gave him a plant that Crowley couldn’t possibly be angry at because he couldn’t ever bring himself to be angry at Aziraphale if it wasn’t mutual made him feel tired as well. The worst combination possible.

He couldn’t leave that one up for adoption right now, not just yet. Exposure to the sun on a windowsill would damage it even more, and who knew what it could do combined with white powder covering it, apparently caused by over-watering? Besides, it didn’t look that great.

There was a window in Crowley’s living room, and he placed the pot in the shade next to it, so no sunlight was reaching it but was still present.

“There you go.” He muttered before he could stop himself, watering the plant twice lesser the amount he usually did and gently getting the white dust off its leaves with a cloth, feeling his anger receding. He stood up, unsure of what to do next.

He decided that walking away from the pot without saying anything again would be best.

Crowley sat on the couch, looking at the plant. It didn’t really matter if he spoke to it, it won’t be back into the plant room to share the gossip so the others could blackmail him (could they even do that? It didn’t hurt to be cautious, they understood what he said at the very least.), so that was fine.

That was fine in the following days, and then the weeks, as well.

He eased in the presence of the gifted pot, eventually. Surprisingly, nothing in the next weeks could piss him off just enough: he managed to somehow stay away from the everlasting traffic, the news wasn’t reporting a looming all-destroying conflict on a weekly basis (or was it that he just didn’t read them anymore, now that Aziraphale was his _something_? Who knew.), their sides didn’t bother them even in the form of some petty paperwork as their only “field agents”, and Aziraphale was lovely as ever.

If Crowley had fewer fits directed at the plants, they didn’t seem to pick up on that. There were occasional yellow leaves and dry ends which he still gave them a scolding for, but the rose seemed to stop him from saying too much, its looming presence always on the back of his mind.

Logically, he knew that the bliss couldn’t last forever. The gifted plant was yet to grow before it would settle in its adult form, but its wilting due to being stuck in a pot that eventually became too small for it still took Crowley by surprise.

It seemed to catch onto the fact that Crowley couldn’t scold it in the same manner he did with the other plants, but he tried his best to keep himself at bay while he was making his point across clear to the plant as he worked on placing it into the bigger pot.

“You’ve gotta know that the rules are the rules here, no exceptions.” He said, lifting the plant and its roots from their old vessel. “You know I don’t… treat you like the rest, but you can’t set a bad example.”

“I just want to make him happy.” He murmured, lowering his voice as he finished sorting out the soil around the replanted rose. He stroke tiny leaves that still appeared on its twigs despite the presence of bigger and more mature ones. Even barely telling it off in the tone that could be described as “mellow” compared to the one he usually used with his plants made him feel uneasy. “You’re so lovely.” He crooned to it but remembered where he was. “Have to be. For— Whatever.”

It went on like this for the time being. He picked up the leaves the plants shed occasionally – a phenomenon you just can’t avoid if you have more than twenty of them – telling them off occasionally, but mostly, he didn’t say anything, just rearranged some of the pots so that they could get more sunlight. Sure, he didn’t have as much space now to parade an empty pot for the others when he gave another plant up, but he hasn’t attempted to since the last time Aziraphale was in his flat, so mostly, he was just talking to them.

The rose continued to grow, and Crowley still couldn’t manage to point out anything wrong with it. It was doing great for the stage of life it was in, and it reminded him of Aziraphale so much. Too much, to be honest, to keep his mouth shut around it.

The polka dot plant got much better in two weeks. Crowley still didn’t talk to it much, and it didn’t see much of Crowley as well.

The rose bloomed in mid-April.

“Has the rose that I gave you bloomed yet?” Aziraphale asked him over tea in his tiny flat above the bookshop three days later after the flower appeared.

“It did.” Crowley answered and wondered how Aziraphale could possibly know.

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” Aziraphale beamed at him. “I’ve read that they could bloom in around two months, but some do that sooner.” He hesitated, but voiced his question anyway: “May I come over and see it?”

“Ugh.” Crowley stuttered. ”Of course. We can go right after.” He waved at the table between them.

So they did.

Entering Crowley’s flat, the first thing Aziraphale did was ask him if the rose was kept with the other plants, to which Crowley just waved him off in the direction of the room to go see it for himself.

Which is how he found Aziraphale, standing on one knee on the floor in front of the pot.

“Aren’t you just gorgeous.” Aziraphale cooed, stroking the leaves and the pale purple flower. “I’m so glad I was able to find a lavender one, they’re barely sold in pots these days.” He addressed Crowley as he stood up and looked around. “The rest are looking great as well, and the room feels much better.”

“What do you mean?” Crowley asked before he could stop himself. He knew exactly what Aziraphale meant and he didn’t want to face it.

The angel looked at him. “I mean, it feels more welcoming. Did you take the blackout curtains off?” It seemed like he decided to take it easy on Crowley.

“Yes.” Crowley lied, because there were never any curtains in the first place, and added hastily: “I’ll just go put the kettle on for— for you.” Before fleeing the room without even considering that Aziraphale probably didn’t want any tea since they’ve just had their mere fifteen minutes ago.

But he didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t even want to acknowledge it, and he didn’t know why even the notion of that made him feel so irked and uneasy.

He knew, for a very long time, that he loved Aziraphale, and he told him so several times now, and he would repeat it as many times as he was allowed to, it was just that it was a very new and unusual thing to say for him – for both of them, he suspected – and the moment wasn’t always right enough. He knew that he cared about Aziraphale, but “love” was a bigger, all-encompassing word that he could finally say after years of hiding it underneath “care” and pretending that there could never be anything more between them but friendship.

That was Aziraphale, however. With everything Crowley felt towards him that he could say out loud, for some reason, he didn’t want the angel to find out that he put any kind of consideration into his plants and think that Crowley _cared_ about them.

He left the water to boil.

Aziraphale was sitting on the sofa in the living room, smiling at him when Crowley entered the room.

“What happened to this one?” The angel asked, nodding towards the polka dot plant underneath the window. “It seems quite lonely all on its own out there.”

“It wasn’t well.” Crowley crossed the room and picked the pot up.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said. “Well, you know I’m no expert, but I think it looks well enough right now. Unless it’s contagious, of course.”

“It isn’t.” Crowley answered and hesitated before saying the next bit: “It’s all right now, actually. I just can’t get around to give it away.”

“Give it away?” Aziraphale sat up. “Why?”

Crowley felt his throat tighten. How was he supposed to explain this? “It just can’t go back.” He said. “I might as well kill it next time if I hadn’t noticed it was sick before. I already have enough of these, it’s fine.”

“You won’t kill it,” Aziraphale said, and it’s the first time Crowley looked him in the face, his eyes away from the plant completely. “You’ve done such a good job with the rose, and it’s so delicate, and the other plants— Well, I felt as if they rather like you.”

Crowley sat down next to him on the sofa.

“Aziraphale,” He started unsurely, but he needed to bring this out. “Did you give me this rose with some kind of intent?”

“No.” Aziraphale said, his eyes locked on Crowley’s and his tone borderline to being faint.

The thing about Aziraphale is: even though he can see right through Crowley and undo all of his intentions with a well-placed glance or just one word, he has no idea about two things.

First being that he isn’t prone to the same process from Crowley.

Second – he is a terrible liar.

“Aziraphale.” Crowley pressed.

“Well, alright,” Aziraphale said, ripping his eyes away from Crowley’s and fixing them on a small table in front of him. “I didn’t want to give you flowers because I know that you’re not exactly like me in that matter,” He bit his lip for a fleeting moment before deciding that twisting the fabric of his trousers would be more efficient. “And I thought— I thought you wouldn’t be so unjust to it since it’s _a flower_ , not just a plant.”

They fell into a stunned silence.

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale said after a while. “I shouldn’t have assumed. It’s only your concern, not anybody else’s unless you want to, and you’ve never told me you do.”

“I’m not angry at you.” Crowley finally managed to say, and he meant it.

He lowered his head.

“I don’t know why I’m doing this.” He said, looking at the pot in his hands, realisation dawning at him. He’d spent decades fooling himself that this was something that they deserved for not being grateful for what they had, that he felt less angry at the world that was at times collapsing around him after he took it out on them, but the truth was that the aftermath left him feeling even more miserable, angry, and helpless than before.

Another truth was: he had always ignored these feelings. There was barely a place for feelings that he could acknowledge and act upon at all, but certainly not the ones that could be exploited or endanger him. Not because he was a demon, but because he’s learned his lessons well.

Aziraphale looked up at him, surprised.

“It’s not as if they can respond or… Defend themselves.” Crowley swallowed and looked back at the angel.

Aziraphale’s eyes were searching his face, and he was looking as if he was on a brink of saying something, but Crowley had no clue what the response to all of this could possibly be.

“Am I like this to you too?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “No. You’ve never been, and you will never be. I know you won’t.”

Crowley laughed, unable to suppress the urge. He hoped that this would turn out to be true, but as it turned out, he didn’t even understand his own actions completely. He looked at the plant again. “I’d doubt that. I don’t even know why the hell I’m doing all of this. I don’t even like it. I think the one that you gave me is the only one I’ve ever spared completely.”

“Why do you think that is?” Aziraphale asked suddenly.

“I dunno,” Crowley shifted his shoulders, but he did know. “I guess nobody ever gave me something like this, and —“ He bit his lip and blinked away the growing pressure in his eyes, trying to even out his breathing. “It seems like I’m hurting you every time I try to do it.”

They were silent for a few moments.

“Well, you didn’t treat the one that I gave you the way you usually do, do you like what’s happening with it?” Aziraphale asked. He sounded so soft and truly concerned that it made the pressure behind Crowley’s eyelids grow again. He fought it back once more.

“You saw it,” He said. “It’s blooming.”

“Yes,” The angel responded. “But what about the rest? Is it good?”

“It’s perfect.” Crowley said immediately.

Aziraphale was silent, giving Crowley the time he needed.

Of course it was perfect, it was from _Aziraphale_ , and he’d be damned again if he’d ever make the angel doubt that he was anything but perfect to him.

He exhaled, letting them both fall into silence again.

“But the rest— Are the rest more like you, then?” Aziraphale asked some time after.

That could sound absurd outside this conversation, but it made perfect sense right now.

“I don’t know,” Crowley responded, and he wasn’t lying. He was still staring at the same plant, the patterns on the leaves that he probably had memorised by now. “I’ve never thought like this, I haven’t thought about it at all, and I don’t like doing all of this, but I don’t know if I could stop.”

Neither of them said anything for nearly a minute before Aziraphale finally did.

“Did you see that the rose had a yellowing leaf?”

Crowley snapped his head up to look him in the eye. “What?”

“Yes,” The angel said. “And it’s tilting to the side, just a bit, because it’s growing. Isn’t that something that would make you angry?”

“I’m not gonna do that,” Crowley muttered. “It’s good enough, I’ve told you already.”

“So you wouldn’t treat me that way if you didn’t like something in me as well?” Aziraphale persisted, although he was surprisingly calm.

“No,” Crowley said incredulously. “That would never happen.”

“Then why are you doing this to yourself?”

Crowley was absolutely lost for words, and then it finally hit him.

“What do you want me to say, Aziraphale?” He meant to snap at him, but instead found that he was talking in a lower tone, sounding annoyed. “That I would rather do this myself than wait for somebody else to come around and do it worse? You know what they’re capable of, of all people you —“

He had to stop talking and turn to the plant again, biting his lip, or he’d risk breaking down completely right in front of Aziraphale.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said and held his arm, tugging him to turn towards the angel. “Crowley, look at me.”

“No.” Crowley shook his head.

“Fine. Right. Then listen.” The angel said, and Crowley thought that he sounded as if he was grounding himself so he could say whatever it was that he wanted to say. “They aren’t coming back.”

Crowley chuckled bitterly again. “Yeah, right. Not now, maybe.”

“Not now, not ever. Even if they do, you don’t need to do that, because you’re strong enough to face them, even without me. Like you already did.”

Crowley remained silent, still staring at the pot in his hands and wondering what Aziraphale had to say next.

“And you don’t have to do this for me.” Aziraphale finally let out. “You’re perfect as you are, however you change. You don’t have to hurt yourself for me, and I’ll never do this to you.”

Oh, that _bastard_.

Crowley turned his face to the side completely as soon as he realised there was no chance for him to hold it together anymore. Biting his lip certainly couldn’t hold back the tears that started to well up in his eyes and threatened to spill next time he blinked in hopes of pretending that he was alright.

He sniffled as Aziraphale shifted closer to him; the angel’s hand that was on his arm was now stroking his back, but was replaced by another one immediately.

“’M sorry.” Crowley managed to say, trying to collect himself enough not to let his voice shake. “I’m sorry that I’m thinking this way about you.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Aziraphale said, his tone stern and sure but soft enough to bring Crowley down next to him. ”I shouldn’t have… ever. I’m sorry for all of that. I was wrong for a long time.”

“No, it’s fine.” There was no point in hiding this anymore, so Crowley took the plant in one hand to wipe the tears away with the back of the other. He was still not looking at Aziraphale. “When you saw all of what’s going on I thought that you actually could be right and I was just blind enough not to see what I really am and — And then you’d eventually realise that you’ve made a mistake.”

He already knew everything he was saying since he’s thought about it hundreds of times, sometimes even in the period between him and Aziraphale sharing their first kiss and the angel seeing him taking his anger out on the plants, but never had it actually driven him to tears. It was probably because he was saying it all out loud, he reasoned, and there was no way to hide from them now.

“It’s never been fine, Crowley, and you know it. I’m really sorry for everything I did that hurt you. I hope you can forgive me someday.”

Crowley shook his head. “You know it never really mattered to me, what you said. I knew you still wanted me around, but it wasn’t like I could stop being— So I thought that I’d just wait for you to see how the things really are. If it’s so important to you, I forgave you a long time ago, just when I figured this out.” He chuckled, the sound coming out wet. “I knew you liked me.”

That seemed to make Aziraphale smile. “I think it did matter, but I’m glad if you have really forgiven me.” He paused, and then Crowley felt the hands leave his body and land on the sides of the pot in his own. “May I?”

He finally turned his head just to look at the angel’s hands and nodded. Aziraphale took the pot and placed it on the coffee table.

He turned back to Crowley. “Do you know,” He started. “How you said you’d never treat me like you treat your plants?” Crowley nodded again. “But it’s not as if I’m the most that I could be.”

Crowley shook his head in disbelief. The angel was completely missing the point. “I can’t treat you like that because you don’t deserve it. And never will.”

“Do I not?” Aziraphale asked, and his genuinely curious tone made Crowley snap his head up and finally look at him. He was looking at Crowley like he was actually expecting an answer, but was sure he’d dismantle it to pieces regardless of what it was. “Should I remind you?”

Crowley huffed. “Come on —“ He sneered.

“No, I’d like you to listen.” Aziraphale interrupted him. He waited for a moment to make sure that Crowley won’t talk over him and started. “According to Heavenly standards, I shouldn’t have been here for at least a couple of centuries now,” He said, raising his hand and bending a finger every time he listed another thing. “I shouldn’t have stopped the war. Shouldn’t have given away the sword, shouldn’t have ever asked for your help, or done anything for and instead of you, shouldn’t have even left you alive in the first place, not even talking about becoming your friend or falling in love with you.”

Although Crowley was listening to him, the last bit sounded so harsh it made him aware of the surroundings once more, as if he was not present there completely the whole time. Aziraphale unfolded his fingers on both of his hands and started again.

“And by human standards,” He said. “I shouldn’t even look like I do; at least in this time frame, but you know how that is. I should probably buy some slim-fit trousers and finally get a proper phone.” Crowley couldn’t help but chuckle at that, and this time he felt like it had more true meaning than before.

Aziraphale waited for both of them to stop smiling before he continued. “I’ve been told that I’m too posh, almost snobbish, really. I chase people out, I rarely trust anybody enough, and by some people’s standards I shouldn’t even be with someone who looks like y—“

“Stop that.” Crowley snapped, looking him in the eye. “Just stop. I get it.”

He did. He really did.

He lowered his head again, now looking just at the floor.

“And by my standards, I just made you upset.” Aziraphale broke the silence.

“I think I can live with that.” Crowley said after a brief pause.

They stayed this way for some time before Aziraphale called him and said nothing else, so Crowley looked at him again.

Aziraphale raised his hands, not touching Crowley’s face just yet. “May I?” He asked once again this evening. Crowley nodded, and Aziraphale’s soft hands touched his skin, his fingers swiping the remaining tears.

“Oh, Crowley,” He said. “Not everything that happens is deserved. You’ve never been a monster; I’ve known you long enough to say that, and I knew what I’m getting into. I can’t say I’m regretting it… yet.” Aziraphale added with what could be a smug smile, but Crowley knew better and responded likewise.

“Oh, dear,” The angel continued. “We make some pair, don’t we? Probably the daily talk of Up and Down.”

“I don’t care,” Crowley shook his head as he caught one of Aziraphale’s hands and pressed a kiss to his palm. “Let them have their fun, these places never learned how to.”

“Only if they never show at our door again.”

After a minute or so that Crowley spent with his eyes closed and his head pressed against Aziraphale’s palm while the other hand was still cradling the side of his face, Aziraphale said softly:

“I really love you.”

Crowley raised his head to meet an equally soft expression.

“You don’t have to say it right now, I know what you meant —“

“I know,” Aziraphale said. “I know, but I’m not telling you just to convince you. I just thought that I didn’t say this enough. I’ll get better.” He faltered. “I want you to have good things. You deserve them— All of them. Even if I’m not around. Especially then.”

Crowley searched his face for a moment. “I already have one.” He said finally. “I love you too.” He kissed Aziraphale’s hand.

Aziraphale’s smile grew happier and fonder than what Crowley saw at least earlier that day. “You can never have too much.” He said and pulled Crowley into a hug.

The polka dot plant reunited with the others later that day.

* * *

[1] Little did Crowley know that Aziraphale left his copy of _The Shadow of the Wind_ there on purpose, just to have an excuse to come over if he felt like it. [2]

[2] Little did Aziraphale know that Crowley forgot to return the book to him every time on purpose.

**Author's Note:**

> Lavender rose meanings: love, enchantment, splendour, something very rare. They also come in different sorts, one of which is called “Angel Face”.  
> The pink flower [Peggy Porschen](https://www.instagram.com/peggyporschenofficial/) café in Belgravia is real.  
> I have no actual knowledge on gardening.
> 
> [Tumblr](https://polkanote.tumblr.com/)


End file.
